


Fearing Not, And Caring

by trekkiepirate



Series: Buttercups and Daisies [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Jaskier Attempts to Save The Day, Jaskier is... Near When The Day Is Saved, Jaskier saves the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trekkiepirate/pseuds/trekkiepirate
Summary: Jaskier is not a hero. He knows this.
Relationships: (background mostly), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Buttercups and Daisies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881454
Comments: 12
Kudos: 117
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #002





	Fearing Not, And Caring

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the poem: Buttercups and Daisies by Mary Howitt

Jaskier is not a hero. He knows this. He’s quite content to spend his life following his Witcher and chronicling all the heroic deeds, big and small, Geralt performs.

But sometimes it’s winter and Geralt has gone back to Kaer Morhen. And sometimes someone needs help when snow covers the Continent and the Wolf School Witchers are all bundled up in their mountain lair. And sometimes being known for spending your life at the heels of a Witcher, the White Wolf you sang from the Butcher, means people will expect that you too are a hero.

Jaskier doesn’t know how old the child is, only that she’s dirty and scrawny with her hands tied and a daisy growing out of one of her forefingers.

“Right,” he mutters to himself as he sets about hewing through the ropes around her wrists. “Right, right, well that is a very pretty flower. Did you make it yourself?” If he were limber enough, he would kick himself in the backside for that one.

The girl nods. “Uh huh.”

Jaskier smiles at her, pleased when she relaxes a bit more and leans against his side while he finishes, pushing the ropes away from her. He helps her stand. “Okay, we’re gonna get you out of here.”

There’s the sound of slow footsteps trying very hard to not be heard coming from the mouth of the cave, between Jaskier and the girl and freedom.

“Well, fu-“ he looks at her wide green eyes, staring up at him. “Well, oh… dear.” Jaskier nods towards a rock outcropping where she won’t be seen in the light coming from the cave opening. “Go hide there,” he nods, “then when I’ve got him really really distracted looking at me, I want you to run. Run as fast as you fu-“ Jaskier hummed in his throat as he cut himself off. “Just run. Run to the left as soon as you leave and don’t stop until you reach the village, okay? Nice lady there called Messila lives in a house surrounded by white myrtle. Go to her, okay?”

“What bout you?” The child asks, proving she speak.

Jaskier smiled his brightest. “I will be right behind you, of course. You tell Messila to put the kettle on, okay? Can you do that?”

The child nodded and scurried to the rock to hide.

“Hello there!” Jaskier waved his hand as if greeting a friend from across a tavern. “Lovely cave you’ve got here. Very, uh, damp and spooky. Well, well done with the… uh,” as the footsteps near he can see it’s not a human but some sort of bipedal… Jaskier thinks it might be a lizardy type… whatever?

Well if he survives this, Jaskier is definitely making Geralt share his bestiary books so next time some woman comes running up to Jaskier on a village dirt road, begging him to slay a monster in the forest, he is better equipped.

Looking back, asking for a description might have been a wiser move to make before asking which direction to look in.

“Fuck,” Jaskier swears, under his breath as he’s fairly certain the girl is far enough away to not hear him. “So, uh, yes, lovely place. Care to give an interested traveler a tour of the place?” Jaskier could slap himself. “That wasn’t meant to sound like we should… you know, do the… You are a very nice looking,” Jaskier is backing away trying to get it to move far away from the girl’s hiding place, “thing. But I’m afraid even I draw a line somewhere. Besides, I am a taken man. Very taken. Often taken,” Jaskier can hear the annoyed hum Geralt would be making if he were here to see Jaskier botching this rescue right the fuck up. “So yes, I just wanted… decorating tips. Thought I might get a cave of my own someday. Very cozy,” he tries his most winning smile while spreading his arms. He’s gesturing for the girl to take the chance and run, pleased when she starts to creep towards the entrance of the cave.

Lizard Man decides it has had exactly enough of Jaskier talking and it lunges at him.

Years ducking angry husbands and sons means Jaskier manages to get out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed beneath the lizard thing. Unfortunately, a claw catches his doublet and brings him up short.

Falling to the cave floor, Jaskier sees the girl stop and turn, looking scared.

“Fuck it all,” Jaskier slips his dagger from his boot. Subtlety is right out the window now. “Run, girl, run!” He shouts as he turns to slice at the creature, hoping to keep its attention on him.

Luckily or… unluckily, Jaskier isn’t sure actually, he connects with its arm, plunging the dagger in deep and yes, it is definitely completely focused on him now. Nothing is seeping from the wound no blood or ichor or whatever might be powering this thing. It doesn’t seem affected by the dagger in its limb.

Jaskier takes a moment, one of his quickly dwindling moments probably, to think of Geralt. His Geralt. In his worn and tattered armor in Posada. The new armour Jaskier bought him once “Toss a Coin” became a hit and his purse got fat at last. Geralt lecturing him about the various plants along the roads and what could be made from them. Gods, but the man could talk about plants and potions all night. Jaskier knows, he’s provoked Geralt to do exactly that, pretending he couldn’t remember whether beggartick blossoms were poisonous or not. Geralt’s small smiles when Jaskier finally said something funny enough. Geralt’s lips, hands, skin on his. In a tavern bed hushing each other so they don’t wake the house and get kicked out. In a tent in forests just like this all over the Continent. A few very memorable occasions against some very sturdy trees.

Jaskier hopes, as the Lizard thing grabs him by the throat and lifts him off his feet, that somehow Geralt will find out about this. Will think Jaskier more brave than foolish (though even he’s not sure what he’d classify himself as right now) and follow Messila’s directions here. Slay the monster and gather what’s left of Jaskier’s body for a proper burial. Part of him hopes Geralt cries and wails over his lost love, but the larger part hopes that Geralt can move on quickly, maybe find that sorceress. Someone who isn’t a weak human, being thrown to the floor so hard he can’t find the strength to try and shift out of the way.

Jaskier had vaguely hoped to be strangled, for some reason he imagines it an easier death than bleeding out from claw wounds or having his organs fed on while he still lives, choking on his own blood. Did that once and he has never wanted a repeat, thank you all the same.

A huge claw is raised over his head and Jaskier fights the urge to close his eyes. He’ll meet his death with a snarl on his face, even if Geralt isn’t here to know that he made a brave and fierce man out of a blustery and foolish boy. Jaskier says, “Geralt,” wanting his love’s name to be the last thing he ever uses his voice for.

“NOOOOOOO!”

Jaskier dimly hears the loud force of the scream from the girl and he thinks back to a decade ago. A betrothal feast. A double wedding. A beautiful woman curling into his chest, seeking safety. A cursed knight. A proud and prejudiced queen. And his Geralt, who wasn’t his just yet. Geralt as he fought to protect the couple, valuing love and choice over duty and politics. Another girl, older than this one, with ashen hair screaming hard enough to save herself and her love.

This scream doesn’t fling either of them several feet back; it doesn’t shake the walls or bring anything crashing down on them. What it does is call up flowers. Cave flowers emitting gentle light as they slither from the deeper depths of the cave. Flowers coming invading from the forest outside, tendrils coming to wrap around the… whatever the fuck it is.

The arm held over Jaskier goes first, ripped clear away by a crowding of ginatia flower.

Jaskier looks from the torn arm to the creature and is not sure which of them is the more surprised.

A vine of honeysuckle comes around and with a sound that Jaskier is going to relive in his nightmares forever, the lizard thing’s head is severed from its shoulders. The rest of the body collapses into the cave flowers, which seem to be… eating away… at the-

Jaskier jumps to his feet and hurries over to the girl. “I think that might be overkill, dear girl.”

With a big smile, the girl nods and the flowers all drop, slithering back from whence they came. “I helped!”

“You, you did at that, yes,” Jaskier is smiling at her, but he thinks it might be a little hysterical. He can feel the adrenaline of his almost death and the sheer amounts of what the fuck that he will deal with later. Away from this cave. Very far away. Possibly not until he gets back to a tavern.

She slips her hand into his, the daisy still cheerfully nodding at him as she waves the other while she speaks, recounting the battle from her point of view.

Jaskier leads her back to the village and she runs to the rows of white myrtle, leaning her head against them as if against a pillow.

Messila comes out of her house and startles to see the child.

“Right, so,” Jaskier says, “the monster is slain, never mind how. Can I convince you to waive the hunter’s fee and use the coin to adopt a most unusual child?”

The girl bounces over and holds out her beflowered hand.

Messila stares, then glances up at Jaskier. “Right, well,” she squats down to be eye level with the girl. “Got a name, little one?”

Frowning, the girl looks at Jaskier. It occurs to him that she may not have one.

“Daisy, her name is Daisy.”

The woman looks up at him with a smirk. “Yes, very original that is.”

“I ripped apart a monster!” Daisy beams, wiggling her fingers.

It escapes neither Jaskier nor Messila’s notice that the myrtle petals move in time with her hand.

Messila, to her credit, just shrugs. “Well, didn’t plan to be a mother once my man was gone.” She stands, “You’ll need a place to stay the night, I warrant. Little bit can bunk up with me.” She holds out a hand, which Daisy takes.

“Mother?”

“Mother,” Messila smiles.

Daisy turns to Jaskier, who holds his hands up in anticipation. “Nope, not father. I’m just a friendly monster hunter bard. Who’ll be leaving in the morning. Heading straight to Novigrad. No more monster contracts. New healthy dose of fear for flowers, so… Geralt will absolutely lose it when I tell him about this.” He smiles at Daisy. “This little adventure of ours might earn me one of his full body laughs. Rare, but the rarest things are the most precious, eh Daisy?”

The girl nods, smiling. “Thanks bunches!”

Jaskier thinks of something. “Wait if you could do that, the… thing you did, why didn’t you do it when you were first taken?”

Shrugging, the girl says, “The man who left me there hadn’t made me angry enough yet.”

“But it wasn’t a man, it was a…” Jaskier comes to several possible conclusions and likes none of them. 

Messila runs her other hand over her face.

“You get used to the weird and worrying, I promise,” Jaskier tries to smile.

“Have a feeling I’ll have to,” Messila leans down and picks Daisy up. “All right, let’s go in, Dais. I’ll get you some breakfast in the morning and mend that doublet least I can do,” she says to Jaskier. “Your Witcher not gonna come knocking down the door demanding the coin later on, is he?”

Even with all his songs, some things were gonna stay stereotypes. Jaskier refused the coin because he knows Geralt would do the same. He’s seen him do it before. “My Witcher will consider the many, many jokes he will be able to make at my expense as payment enough.”

“Well, I think you deserve your own song,” Messila says as she leads them inside. “Something about ugly monsters and pretty flowers and the flowers winning. I’m no poet. You’ll know the words and such, won’t you Jaskier.”

Daisy’s smile is bright as she turns to him. “Jaskier! That’s a good name.” Stretching from Messila’s hold, she presses a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek.

A buttercup falls onto the shoulder of his doublet.


End file.
